Three Christmases and one more
by Baron Munchausen
Summary: Three Christmases when Anthony Strallan was lonely, and one when he (eventually) wasn't.
1. Chapter 1

_**Merry Christmas everyone! I had a Halloween story (which I didn't finish in time and is being kept in the story freezer for next year). I had a WWI Centenary story (which I didn't finish in time, and may publish at some point). I have several 'ordinary' stories on the go (which haven't been updated in FOREVER). So, why, in the name of all that's sane, do I start a Christmas story, I hear you ask! Call it the triumph of hope over experience...and deference to Lady Tarlea and her call for Christmas stories. I never could bear to disappoint a lady.**_

* * *

 _Three Christmases when Anthony Strallan was lonely, and one when he wasn't._

 **1883**

The candles had burnt out long ago. Anthony sat in the dark, empty dormitory gazing at the crisp, far-away stars through the icy windows. He was used to the freezing temperature and he had a rough wool blanket wrapped around him. It wasn't the winter that chilled him.

He was the only boy in the school who didn't have anyone to go to for Christmas. His parents and sister were away in the colonies where they had been for the last three years, since his father gained a position in the Indian Civil Service. His parents took his sister with them as she didn't have to go to school.

But he did.

Even the other boys whose fathers were scattered around the Empire had relatives in England for them to visit. Anthony was here, in this stone-built almost-prison with only his housemaster for company, and the man was a mass of seething resentment that he was stuck here with Strallan instead of merrymaking with one of his cousins. Anthony had tried to apologise and point out that it wasn't his fault, but the man had glowered his displeasure at the boy, then stomped off to his room and the entire bottle of 1860 port that he intended to drink that night.

Anthony didn't have even that comfort. He watched the stars. And wished.


	2. Chapter 2

**1904**

Stewart walked silently to Locksley's front door. _If it's that blasted vicar again, I think I may strangle him myself_ he thought as he drew the bolts. _Sir Anthony doesn't want to see anybody, and why should the poor man be troubled after all he's been through just because it's Christmas?_

He opened the door, and a blast of cold engulfed him. There was no one there. Cursing under his breath he took a step outside to peer into the darkness. As he did so he bumped into something, and a child's voice exclaimed "Oh!".

Stewart looked down to see a young girl, perhaps nine or ten years old, looking up at him with painfully pale features and tearful eyes that were all the more tearful for nearly being trodden on by a butler.

"Good heavens! Hello!"

"Hmmlo" replied the girl, shyly.

"It's very cold out there? Why don't you come in, so I can shut the door. Is there anyone with you?"

"There was. Not now."

"Where did they go?" Stewart was intrigued, despite himself.

"Don't know."

"Is that why you knocked on the door?"

"No. I'm carol singing. We were all supposed to go carol singing, then they ran off and I was...anyway, I saw your house, so can I sing to you, please?"

It all came out in a rush, as these confessions often do in the very young. Stewart sensed that the young lady was fast using up her stock of bravado. She was alone, probably lost, and definitely frightened. The girl might try to run away and then he'd have to deal with it, and wasn't sure he could cope with that as well as everything else.

Suddenly he thought that perhaps a little sweet innocence might be just the thing that Sir Anthony needed; a distraction; a reminder that life went on.

"This isn't my house, I'm the butler. But, oh, please do sing. The Master will be able to hear" he said encouragingly, nodding towards the nearest door.

The girl looked even more frightened now, but she cleared her throat and started.

"Silent night, holy night  
All is calm, all is bright  
Round yon Virgin mother and child  
Holy infant so tender and mild  
Sleep in heavenly peace  
Sleep in heavenly peace."

Stewart saw the door to the Library open a crack. That was the most the Master had stirred himself for days.

"Go on!" he whispered.

"I don't know any more!" she wailed in a whisper, looking towards the door with panic.

"Just sing it again then! It's all right."

As the child's voice gained strength from use, and the warmth, and Stewart's encouragement, and filled Locksley's hall with pure Christmas magic, Sir Anthony himself slowly inched around the doorjamb.

"...Sleep in heavenly peace."

The silence, heavy with grief, was broken by Sir Anthony's quiet sob.

"We've been visited by a small carol singer, Sir." Stewart covered his employer's momentary lapse with professional finesse. He turned to the girl.

"May I announce you, Miss?"

"Ly Eth Cly" she mumbled, shy once more.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

Though still small and scared, she drew herself erect.

"Lady Edith Crawley."

"Lady Edith Crawley, Sir." Stewart turned to his guest to complete the introductions.

"This is Sir Anthony Strallan, my lady."

The Butler felt better now the situation was more defined, and Sir Anthony seemed to be dealing with it.

"Good evening, Lady Edith. Your singing is exceedingly beautiful. Very much better as a solo, if I may say so, more affecting."

The girl shivered, but not from the cold.

Sir Anthony saw it, but leapt to the obvious conclusion.

"You must be frozen. Please, come and warm yourself by the fire. Two steaming hot cocoas, please, Stewart."

"Very good, Sir" his man replied, giving his Master a meaningful nod, and then smiling to himself as he strode down to the kitchen.

"Now, that's better, isn't it?" Sir Anthony had stoked the dying embers of the fire and it was now blazing to life.

"Yes, thank you, Sir Anthony."

"I must say, it was quite a wonderful surprise, hearing you carolling like that. Have you been to many other houses this evening?"

Sir Anthony had not been so lost in his own emotions that he had missed Stewart's subtle unspoken message as he passed him outside the library. This child was astray. And now, she was their responsibility. On Christmas Eve. They needed to get her back to her proper place. Oh well, it wasn't as if they were doing anything else.

Sir Anthony's question caused the child to grow shy and withdrawn once again.

"No."

He slid off the chair onto his knees to look the girl in the eye.

"You impress me as an unusually bright girl, and brave. You know I can't let you leave this house alone, my lady. It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be safe. So, why don't you tell me how it came about...the miracle of you coming to my door tonight?"

The tears the girl had held in for so very long released themselves in the face of such kindness.

"My...my sisters and I and...and my cousin, Patrick...we...we were all supposed to go carol singing together with Mrs Hughes and nanny. We were going to collect for the hospital. But Sybil ate something that disagreed with her and she was sick, so nanny and Mrs Hughes looked after her and that was that. But...but Mary and Patrick wanted to go anyway, and I chased after them because I wanted to help, and they ran, and they ran, and then they called me all sorts of horrid names, saying I always spoilt everything they did. Then they pushed me in a ditch and they ran off...they were laughing at me. They said they'd get more money without me than with me because I was so ugly and horrible! And they wished I would disappear into the snow! So, once I'd got out of the ditch I thought I'd try carol singing on my own...and yours was the first house I came to."

Anthony offered her his handkerchief and rubbed her back with sympathy. Then he took out his pocket book and took out several notes.

"Firstly, these are for your wonderful carol singing, to prove to your mean relations that you can sing. I doubt _they_ will have collected half as much!"

He placed them securely in her dress pocket while she watched wide-eyed.

"Thank you, Sir Anthony!"

"Now, I want you to listen to me, because I'm a quarter-of-a-century older than you, or thereabouts. So I am older and wiser than your sister and cousin. Correct?"

Edith nodded, totally focussed on her host.

"You, my lady, are beautiful. You are kind and courageous and talented. Other people can be very cruel when they want something and someone else accidentally gets in the way. I suspect Mary and Patrick just want some time alone, and that's why they were so horrible to you."

"They're going to get married! And Mary doesn't love him. But I do!"

 _Oh golly! How to explain that tangled web to a child!_

Sensibly, he didn't try.

"Oh little one! Life is unfair. I know. How I know! Three weeks ago, I had a beautiful wife and a child expected any minute. Now I have neither. Yes, Life is cruel." He sighed. "So you see, kindness like yours is even more precious when such injustice is all around us, and people who don't appreciate such kindness are fools."

Edith put her small hand up to Anthony's face to wipe away the tears, and the two of them wept together in the firelight until Stewart brought their cocoa and the news that the pony and trap would be ready in half and hour to take Lady Edith back to Downton Abbey.


	3. Chapter 3

**1920**

"Will you be attending Midnight Mass, Sir?" Stewart asked with care. "It might bring you some comfort to fulfill a small duty."

"Possibly. I suppose if I arrive at the last minute before the beginning, leave quickly after the end, and sit near the back, that will minimise any chance of…"

"...having to talk to anyone?" Stewart finished for him.

"...being seen by anyone" Sir Anthony clarified.

"That is not the aim of the tradition, Sir, but if that is your intent then may I suggest that you may not wish to go up for the Sacrament then, Sir."

"No" replied his master, more sharply than he intended. Then, in a gentler voice, added "I'm sorry this has been such a bally rotten Christmas for you, Stewart. You should have gone to visit your mother like I suggested."

"It was kind of you to give me the option, Sir. Perhaps another time, when my services are not so vital."

"Thank you, my friend."

"My pleasure, Sir."

As the faithful man helped Sir Anthony into his overcoat, hat, and sling, he reflected that it had been over six months since that catastrophic day in Downton Church, and yet he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times that the baronet had ventured out of his estate since then. Attendance at the Service marking the Armistice was non-negotiable, of course. The one visit to his sister and the two to the specialist in London required going to Downton train station and risking seeing Lady Edith, or being seen by her, but luckily neither had happened.

Stewart drove, of course. Anthony sat in the back wondering what Edith was doing this Christmas. It was a bad habit that he could not bring himself to want to break: thinking of her, of what she might be doing, hoping she had forgotten him, knowing she would not have forgiven him. With no invitations, (for who wants to invite the pariah of the county?), and no social engagements, he had nothing to distract him from his daydreaming of her. Perhaps the Crawleys were spending the festive season with relatives, or in Town. More likely they would be at home at Downton providing hospitality to a choice guest list of friends and relations. It was possible that Edith had married, though he looked through the papers every morning for the announcement with trepidation knowing it would break his heart all over again if...when...he saw it. If so she would be spending her first Christmas with...with... _well, not with me: the man who should be her husband!_

"Sir? You're sure there was a service at Locksley tonight?"

Anthony pulled himself back from his dreaming, and surveyed the darkened church.

"Yes, of course there is. There always is" he replied doubtfully.

"With your permission, I'll check the notice board."

For a hundred years it had been accepted tradition that the Lord of Locksley attended Midnight Mass at the church on his land, and duty was very important to Anthony. Duty and honour. No matter the cost to himself, he would always do what he considered the honourable course of action.

Stewart returned, rubbing his gloved hands against the cold.

"There is a notice saying that the Reverend is ill, Sir. Pneumonia. There will be no services until the diocese can find a replacement."

"Oh dear. Poor Mr Bentley. Remind me to send something round to him in the morning; whisky perhaps. Something soothing and warming."

"Very good Sir."

Stewart didn't restart the engine. He sat staring forward.

"May I speak freely, Sir?"

"You may always speak freely, Stewart. You have earned that right, and I appreciate your wise counsel. What is it?"

"It's just that...the notice, Sir...it directed Locksley parishioners to attend the service in the nearest church."

"Downton" he stated, his voice strained.

"Yes, Sir. If most of the village have gone there…"

"They wouldn't expect me to attend _there_ , would they?"

"I believe they would, Sir. I'm afraid it is natural that they will only be thinking about the situation from their point of view, not yours, or that of Downton's residents."

Anthony valued Stewart's discretion in not naming which particular residents of Downton he was considering. He closed his eyes, chased down his rising panic, and made a decision. A decision that would change his life.

"Very well, Stewart. Get us to Downton Church."

 _I will sit at the back, I won't go up for Communion, I will leave quickly, it will be all right, it will be all right._

Despite repeating the mantra, Anthony dreaded entering that church again. He loathed himself already, but revisiting the place where it happened would be torture. He feared the judging looks directed his way by Mr Travis, the villagers, and the Abbey staff, Mr Carson, Mrs Hughes, the family...her.

The Rolls hit the black ice and skidded, twisting, gears grinding, the steering screaming at Stewart's expert handling of the machine. They came to a stop with a controlled 'bump' against something that sounded metallic, certainly not a hedge or a tree.

"Are you hurt, Sir?" Stewart shouted.

"No, no, I don't believe so. You?"

"No, thank you Sir."

He got out to look at the damage to the car, and found a minor dent...and its cause. They had hit another, smaller car that had encountered the same dangerous patch of ice and ended up with its front wheels in the ditch.

"I'll check on the people in the other car, Sir."

"Yes, we should do that" Anthony agreed, scrambling out of the Rolls.

There was only one person in the other vehicle, the driver, a woman. Her awkward posture plainly indicated that she was unconscious.

"Madam? Are you hurt?" Stewart touched the woman's shoulder to try to rouse her, causing her to flop over to his side of the car. Anthony's soul froze.

"Edith?! L..Lady Edith!" He put his good hand up to her face.

"My God, Stewart, she's like ice."

"She must have been here for some time before we came along."

"We need to get her to the hospital."

Stewart tried to lift her out of the car, but she was stuck. As Stewart tried to pull her gently, she moaned. Anthony bent down to identify the trouble.

"Her ankle's jammed under the pedal. There must be some damage to the braking mechanism."

"If you could support her, Sir, I think I can loosen the metal enough to free her."

Anthony placed his good arm around the shoulders of the woman who should have been his wife of six months by now. Holding her steady against his chest, both to warm her and to allow Stewart to ease her foot free, he whispered in her ear.

"Hold on, my sweet one. We'll get you out of here and somewhere warm and safe. Hold on, my darling. Please."

With a 'clank' the broken brake pedal came free in Stewart's hand and Edith's body sagged against Anthony's. He held her for a few more precious moments as Stewart got to his feet. Then transferred her to Stewart who lifted her up and into the back seat of the Rolls.

"I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to support her, Sir, otherwise she's like to slip off the seat."

Anthony's mind only just registered what was said to him.

"She's so cold, so very cold. We ought to get her to the nearest warm place and summon the doctor there. I don't think she would easily survive the journey to the hospital."

"Nearest place would be Locksley, Sir."

"Then get us back as quickly as you safely can, Stewart. You've been quite marvellous so far and I thank you for it, but don't let me down now."

"Yes Sir. Very good Sir."

* * *

.

Mrs Dale had hastily lit a fire in one of the bedrooms she kept permanently made up. She was from the older generation of housekeepers, and firmly of the opinion that 'just in case' saved a lot of work later and ensured that Locksley would never be found wanting in any emergency. She had stripped Edith of her wet outer clothes, put her to bed, and was filling the fifth hot water bottle down in the kitchen right now.

Stewart had seen to Anthony, who refused to leave Edith's side, merely turning his back while Mrs Dale was working.

 _I've let her down before. I failed her twice. I will_ NOT _f_ _ail her again!_

"Sir." Stewart stood beside him, all wary attentiveness. "I telephoned Carson, Sir, and explained the situation. He will pass on the message. I also telephoned the hospital. I'm afraid Dr Clarkson will not be able to come before morning. Mr Bentley's condition has taken a turn for the worse and will be spending the night at the Rectory. But the nurse assures us that we are doing all the right things in keeping Lady Edith warm and dry and quiet. There's little more the doctor could do even if he were here."

Anthony was not a man given to shouting and screaming when things went wrong, although on this occasion he was sorely tempted. He merely nodded his thanks to Stewart. The look in Sir Anthony's eye told Stewart everything. He put the cup of hot tea that he'd brought up for his master in the baronet's good hand, and gave his shoulder a brotherly pat, before leaving him.

 _Dear God, if she dies… if she dies in my house… I will not survive it… I would not wish to survive it…_

"Lady Edith, you got quite cold out there, but you're fine now. You're warming up nicely, but you have push back through the dark yourself. Fight it, my dear one. Come back to us. Can you imagine what your family would put me through if I wasn't able to return you to them safe and sound? You would probably say that I deserve the worst they can visit on me, and I'd agree with you, but please, don't...don't let that happen...please wake up so you can tell me yourself what an utter cad I am. You can damn and blast me to hell, scratch my face, throw heavy objects and all the insults I know I deserve at me, and I'll accept them without a word. But you have to wake up to do those things. Please, my dearest darling, please live. Please live. I can't tell you how much I wish I hadn't walked out of our wedding. Although nothing has changed, not really. I'm still too old for you. I'm still a cripple. You are still the most amazing, wonderful, intelligent, beautiful woman I could ever have dreamed of. You still deserve so much better than me, my darling. But, oh God, I had happiness, and I threw it away. You would not believe how lonely I have been without you, my love, my sweet one."

Stewart and Mrs Dale took it in turns to look in on the master and make sure he was all right, and to refresh the hot water bottles and the fire. But Anthony kept his vigil by Edith's bedside all through the night, whispering to her his sorrow and regret and love until dawn broke on Christmas morning.

* * *

.

 _ **Happy New Year, everyone! May the Fandom gods bless us, every one.**_


	4. Chapter 4

**_Many thanks to everyone who is reading, and to everyone who has been kind enough to leave a review! It really is so lovely to hear your thoughts._**

 ** _Well, Orthodox Christmas was two days ago, so this isn't *so* late (ahem). I think I might possibly get the last chapter in before Midsummer._**

 ** _This chapter is a continuation of the third Christmas of the title. Enjoy!_**

* * *

 **.**

 **1920 (continued)**

" _You would not believe how lonely I have been without you, my love, my sweet one."_

 _Stewart and Mrs Dale took it in turns to look in on the master and make sure he was all right, and to refresh the hot water bottles and the fire. But Anthony kept his vigil by Edith's bedside all through the night, whispering to her his sorrow and regret and love until dawn broke on Christmas morning._

Somewhere around four o'clock, Edith moaned. Anthony was instantly by her side, holding her hand, feeling her brow for fever, and whispering reassurances. Though she opened her eyes, he didn't think that she was quite awake. His fingers continued gently caressing hers as she gradually came to consciousness. She looked up at him, and immediately smiled. That in itself broke his heart all over again as he tried to return her smile through the tears.

"Anthony" she whispered happily "I hoped it would be you."

 _Oh God! No, don't be an idiot! She's delirious still, that's all...it can't be...oh but if only..._

"You gave us quite a scare, my sweet one."

"And I always loved it when you called me that."

He swallowed hard, then, instead of allowing himself to be charmed by her intoxicating kindness, he thought he ought to find out what had caused her predicament.

"Do you remember driving over to the village? I suppose you were heading for the Church, just as I was when Stewart and I found you?"

"I wasn't driving to the Church, I was trying to catch the last train to London. I hit some ice and span into the ditch. My...my foot got wedged under a pedal and I couldn't get free. I must have passed out." She began wriggling herself upright.

"Don't try and sit up just yet, my dear. It's taken us a long time to get you warm. Stewart and Mrs Dale will have my head on a spike if I let you get cold again!"

With a feeble smirk at his joke, Edith obeyed.

"How are you feeling now?"

"Odd. It feels odd to be in bed in your house. Especially after what happened."

Anthony bowed his head in the silence.

"I hope you know how much I regret hurting you like that."

"I do now. I haven't been asleep _all_ the time, Anthony."

He went very pale.

"How much did you hear?"

"Enough."

There was little Anthony could say to that. After another awkward pause, he asked "Do you feel like something to drink, or even to eat? I know Stewart will be up; he could rustle up some toast and tea perhaps?"

The thought of food was too much for her. She sat up desperately fast mumbling "Oh blast, I'm going to be sick!"

Anthony got the clean po under Edith's mouth just in time, then rubbed her back soothingly, murmuring quiet reassurances while her body convulsed.

Once she had finished, he tucked her back into the bed to recover. He sat back watching her...and thinking.

"How do you feel now, my dear?"

"Fine! Just a silly bug I should think" she answered a little too brightly.

"I'm worried about you, Edith. I know I have absolutely no right, considering how I left you, but I am seriously concerned."

"It's just a reaction to getting rather cold, Anthony, please don't worry." But the panic in her voice betrayed her.

" _Edith_ , if you are...'ill', or in any kind of trouble, I beg you to believe that I would do anything in my power to help. _Anything._ "

"Of course you would" she said, almost to herself.

"I have to confess that I have asked Dr Clarkson to attend on you as soon as he can."

" _No...oh no!"_

"Why...what…?"

But Edith in her distress was trying to reach her clothes so that she could get out of bed, and all he could think of was how to keep her under the covers. He caught her wrist and held her.

"Edith, for pity's sake, please stay in the warm! You're obviously not all right!"

"Just let me go! I can't let Clarkson examine me!"

"Why?"

"Because once he knows he might tell my family and...and then…" She stopped trying to fight Anthony and instead buried her tears into his chest.

"My dearest sweet, shh, I'm sure your family will want the best for you."

"Really?!" she scoffed. "You mean, like they did before our wedding?!"

He ducked his head admitting she was right.

"Well _I_ want what's best for you, and Clarkson is honour-bound not to tell anybody anything unless you permit it" he stated reasonably.

"Like all rules or laws, that doesn't apply to Granny! She will brow-beat him and threaten his position at the hospital until he tells her what she wants to know!"

"But Edith…"

" _Anthony, I'm pregnant!_ "

In the sudden silence he just continued rubbing her hand and regarding her with sad, loving eyes.

"You don't even look surprised."

"I'm afraid I had suspected as much" he quietly responded.

"H-how?"

"My sweet, in the past six or seven hours you have fainted badly and been rather sick, and I know that you are not prone to either condition. So it really wasn't difficult."

"And if you can work it out, so can three-quarters of the county. Why are you not shocked?"

"Why should I be shocked, my dear? Sometimes these things happen...when one is in love."

Edith stared at him, thinking that his reaction was so totally like Anthony: very worldly and, at the same time, very, very compassionate.

"I just hope you will invite me to the wedding" he smiled longingly, then became shamefaced, "...although...if you'd rather I didn't...I mean, I don't deserve...or if your fiancé objects, well...I'll understand of course…"

"He's not my fiancé, Anthony."

"Ah. Not _yet_ , surely?"

She turned her head away from him, unable to meet his eyes.

"When I told him about the baby he sacked me from the paper and cut off all contact."

This time, Anthony really was shocked. He sat in silence as his countenance darkened.

"What I did was unforgivable. But this…" he struggled to control his anger, speaking very evenly and deliberately. "If you but give the word, I will hunt him down and give him no choice but to marry you. He _has_ to be made to see his obligations! I…"

"It'll do no good. He's already married. And...well, I don't think I want to marry someone who could abandon me." Anthony's heart ached, for many reasons.

"I...I just don't know what to do!" she began to weep again.

"My sweet one...I mean, Lady Edith, I understand that your choices are limited, but may I assume that you have considered and rejected them all? That they all have unacceptable consequences?"

"I want this baby, Anthony! I love it already. It's my baby! But, no matter how much I think about it, there is just no way that that can happen. It seems that I will have to go away or tell my parents, and either course is fraught with trouble."

"Of course you love your child, Edith. What plans, if any, do you have for after the baby is born?"

"I haven't thought that far ahead. I suppose I'll have to give it up for adoption!" She felt hollow as though someone had struck her in the chest just at the thought.

"You don't have to."

She stopped weeping and stared at him.

"What do you mean?"

"If you were married, all of this would be perfectly natural and acceptable. There would be no talk and no scandal."

"I've told you! He can't marr…" She trailed off. "You don't mean him, the father, do you?"

"No."

It was Edith's turn to be shocked.

"There would be absolutely no question of you owing me anything. I would be happy to give you, and your child, my name, and somewhere to live, here or in London perhaps, or wherever you like; you need never go back to Downton again if you didn't want to. I would provide you with an income sufficient to establish your own household, your own staff, you need never worry financially. It would be my penance, a small atonement for the pain I put you through. There'll still be some tittle-tattle, but it would be mostly at my expense and not too serious. Most importantly, you can keep your little one."

"But, Locksley, your title…if it's a boy...?"

Anthony smiled at her.

"My darling girl, the title dies with me otherwise, and it would be a relief to know Locksley will be going to someone, anyone, other than into the mercy of faceless solicitors. Once again, you would be helping me, rather than the other way around."

"And you, Anthony...you left me standing alone in that church and I haven't seen you or heard from you for over six months until a few hours ago. We've only been talking for a matter of minutes, and yet, on the strength of that, you are willing to marry me, a fallen woman, and take on my bastard, and squander your estate and your rank on us?"

He looked at her intently.

"You said you'd heard what I told you when I thought you were asleep? Please, allow me to do this. I don't want to fail you again."

She looked down for a moment, and then knew for certain that not only was this the only feasible way forward, but that she wanted what Anthony was offering.

"Yes, I will marry you, Anthony" she said.

* * *

.

Edith felt much better by the time Dr Clarkson came round, and she made sure that he didn't examine her closely enough to guess a thing. Although Stewart had informed the Crawleys of Edith's mishap immediately they had reached Locksley around midnight, no one had bothered to come out to fetch her. This clearly angered Anthony still further, and he suggested that Edith might wish to spend Christmas Day with him.

"Thank you, Anthony, but if this is to be my last Christmas as an unmarried woman, I think I should return home, to adhere to the story."

"Of course" he bowed his head in acquiescence.

"I will call on you in the New Year...to make arrangements."

Stewart drove her back. Anthony watched the car disappear, and felt more lonely than he ever had been before.


	5. Chapter 5

**1921 - The Fourth Christmas**

"You wished to see me, Sir?"

"Ah, yes, thank you, Stewart. Please, sit down. I just wanted to let you know...well, the thing is...actually, I've decided to relocate to the town house in London for the foreseeable future."

Anthony, nervous and ashamed, didn't dare look at his man. Stewart had probably guessed why he was moving, though he showed his surprise only in a momentary hesitation before he replied.

"Very good, Sir."

"I shall only be taking you. The rest of the staff should stay here at Locksley to look after Lady Strallan and Miss Marigold."

"It's only two days before Christmas, Sir. Might I enquire when you wish the move to take place?"

"If we leave after New Year will that give you enough time to make the necessary arrangements?"

"It'll be a bit of a push, Sir, but I will do my best."

"Excellent. Thank you Stewart."

* * *

.

It was done. He'd tried discussing it with Edith several times, but he never quite had enough courage to. At long last, he'd acted. He couldn't go back on his instructions, or change his mind now. Well, he _could_ but that would cause even more gossip and trouble. Stewart would've gone straight down to the Servants' Hall and told the rest of the staff that the Master and Mistress were separating.

Finally, he had to face up to telling Edith... _not that she will miss me_ he thought. He walked slowly up the stairs to the nursery where she spent most of her time now, his pace becoming ever slower as he reached the top, thinking how much he didn't want to leave, how much he wished things could've been different, wondering once again how they had got to this point...

...

 _On the 5_ _th_ _of January Edith rang Locksley to ask if it would be convenient for her to call the next day._

" _Of course, Lady Edith" Anthony replied. "Would you care to join me for lunch?"_

" _I think tea might be more appropriate."_

" _As you wish." He sounded a tad disappointed, and although he couldn't read her voice for any clues as to her feelings, he felt nervous. Why did she want a shorter meeting? Had she changed her mind? Was she trying to save them both embarrassment?_

 _The following afternoon Stewart showed Edith to the Library, which was uncharacteristically empty._

" _Sir Anthony will be with you in a moment, my lady; and may I say how good it is to see you looking better...that is, better than you looked on Christmas Eve" he clarified._

" _Thank you Stewart." Though she smiled at him she couldn't quite hide her trepidation at the upcoming interview. Anthony had had more than a week to consider his offer. If he'd had second thoughts...and she couldn't ignore the fact that, where she was concerned, he had a history of doing so...this might be a very short tea. If that was the case, then she would have to face up to the inevitable, devastating last option before her._

 _Her thoughts were scattered as the door opened again; Stewart had brought tea, sandwiches, and scones. He carefully set them down and arranged them on the side table, assuring her that "Sir Anthony is just concluding a telephone call. He won't be long, my lady."_

 _So Edith waited. Waited and remembered. Here in this room, she had once forced him, almost bullied him_ _while he was rearranging his books_ _, to have dinner with her family. He had tried to tell her that he didn't want to shove her away, and, oh, how she wanted to believe him. She thought back to other teas they had shared both before and after the war. She even recalled sharing her childish grief over Patrick with a much younger Anthony when she was still small...He'd been so kind..._

" _Lady Edith! I'm sorry to have kept you. Stewart's brought tea, I see. Good man. You should have started without me!"_

 _He spoke more and faster than usual, and with a forced brightness. She knew him well enough to recognise the signs that he was nervous too._

 _They sipped their tea. He asked how Christmas had been, and she didn't quite tell the truth. He gave her a look which said that he knew she was lying, and that he sympathised._

" _Would you like another cup?"_

" _Anthony..." she sighed._

 _Abruptly, as though she had just given him permission to tackle the issue they were here to discuss, he was all seriousness._

" _Lady Edith, before we begin I want to make it clear, absolutely clear, that you are totally in control of this. Please, do tell me what you do, and don't, want without any concern that...that...I might disapprove or be offended. Because I won't. I do not have any right to be."_

 _She tried to answer, but he forged on._

" _And to assure you that I am serious, totally dedicated to this offer if you want it, I was on the telephone just now to my lawyer and the bank to put the finishing touches to arrangements to make this process as secure and beneficial for you as it can be. So that I could tell you they had been put in place by the time you came today."_

 _He paused, suddenly unsure._

" _That is, if you still would like to explore...possibilities?"_

 _She masked all the affection this gentle, and gentlemanly, man's words had brought her. Calmly, quietly she replied "Yes, I would. It is more than I could've hoped for."_

 _The look of pure relief on his face and his accompanying sigh told her a great deal about what to expect. But still she could not bring herself to trust him. The vision of his retreating back as he walked out of Downton Church continued to haunt her, day and night._

" _Good. Good. As I see it, the main thing to settle quickly...to settle as a priority, I mean...is the actual marriage."_

" _I expect you would prefer registry office rather than church, seeing as..." she began, and then looked up at him._

" _...what happened last time?" He finished for her with disarming humility. "Actually, my own feeling is that it should be as public as possible to cement the story...to publicise that we are married" he stated baldly. "Of course, if you could not bear the thought of that, we won't. I will agree with anything you choose, but, if we_ were _to marry at Downton, inviting the same guests as before, it would make sure that everyone's attention is on me. So they won't be looking at you too closely, because they'll be wondering if I have enough backbone to stay the course this time."_

" _But your reputation! Anthony! People have only just stopped talking about...about..." For the first time during this conversation, she allowed her emotions to show._

" _A small price to pay to ensure people will believe our story when the little one arrives."_

 _She shook her head and looked down. He seemed determined to advise her to take the best course of action for her welfare, even if he had to sacrifice himself. Even the second best option would not be countenanced by him despite the fact that the advantages to her might be minor and the costs to him very great._

" _Are you sure?"_

" _Absolutely. I did you a grave injustice when...when I jilted you" he stammered. He tore his eyes away from her with a self-conscious cough, and began noting their decisions in a notebook._

" _So we should see Mr Travis as soon as possible."_

" _Please let's not tell my family" she blurted "at least, not until it's too late for them to interfere."_

 _He smiled sadly. "I solemnly vow to you that I will not be coerced into leaving you again, my dear. I'm sure we can withstand them...together."_

" _Even Papa? Even Granny?"_

" _Dearest, this time I know that what I am doing is truly in your interests, and that gives me the courage of my convictions._ _ **I will fight for you**_ _."_

 _Briefly he squeezed her hand. Even now he considered anything further would be a liberty. As she looked up into his eyes all her worries of the last nine or ten weeks began to loosen their grip on her._

...

Standing outside of the nursery, he dragged himself back from his memories, straightened his shoulders the way he used to before going over the top, and knocked quietly.

When he entered at his wife's call, he saw what he had come to think of as the most beautiful sight he'd ever see in this world: Edith holding Marigold and soothing her to sleep with a lullaby. It hollowed out his heart with longing. It wasn't the most beautiful sight he could _imagine_ , but dreams like that...dreams that Edith might ever care for him, that she might share his bed, that she might one day hold _his_ child...they were impossible. He didn't deserve them. He'd killed them off himself one sunny day in May 1920.

...

 _The intense longing (which he should have foreseen, but which took him by surprise in its brutality), truly began at their wedding ball. Informing her family of the engagement had been more of a battle than Edith or he had guessed it would be. There had been predictions of dreadful disasters and dire consequences from the Dowager Countess, as expected, but her insults to Anthony became more open and more direct than they had ever been before. Robert spoke to him several times in the weeks prior to the rearranged ceremony with much more insistence than before the first wedding. Anthony, with gentlemanly politeness, stood his ground. It was against all his principles, but he had a reason to fight: Edith needed him. It was such a relief when Cora publicly joined her daughter and prospective son-in-law at the barricades. The three of them forged ahead and organised another wedding, disregarding whatever anyone else said._

 _The wedding guests were, as Anthony had foreseen, merely a thinly veiled audience attending only to see whether he would encore his previous disgraceful behaviour. The bride wasn't given a second look, and so the fact that she was, perhaps, a little plumper around the middle than she should have been was utterly missed, just as Anthony had planned._

 _She had danced the first waltz with him. He'd been consumed with love, with longing, with adoration, and with shame. He couldn't hold her properly. As they had previously agreed, she danced with every man who requested a turn with the bride – to prove her health and vitality...certainly not about to be confined – and every man apart from him could hold her, guide her with elegance, sway her seductively. By the time the happy couple left Downton for Locksley the groom was tortured by 'what-might-have-beens', but he kept his tempestuous feelings under control with steely control. He behaved impeccably towards his new bride, made her welcome and comfortable, and only after he had escorted her to her room and bid her 'goodnight' with a chivalrous kiss to her hand and then taken refuge in his own chamber did he allow his tears to fall._

 _Since then it had only worsened. Anthony found himself jealous and protective and tortured by wishes and imaginings by turns, throughout their honeymoon and when they returned to Yorkshire. He had totally underestimated how much his emotions would torment him, living with the woman he adored but who owed him nothing, and felt nothing for him; could feel nothing for him after how he had treated her. Edith's last month of pregnancy caused him to whirl into a panicked maelstrom as he recalled what Maud's last days had been like. Edith seemed to be partly amused and partly really touched by his attentiveness and worry. He had almost run mad pacing outside the birthing chamber. The joy of the birth, with a healthy baby and a healthy mother, was overwhelming. He almost broke through his self-imposed mask of mildness then and confessed to the love he kept hidden from Edith. In the couple of months since then, he had become almost totally lost._

 _Finally, with Christmas two days away, Anthony had decided that remaining at Locksley was just needless self-torture. Edith would be happier to have some space of her own without him. She would be able to build a life for herself again, and he might be able to recover some of his inner peace without seeing her every day, without sharing his life with her while not truly being her husband. It wasn't what he wanted; it was purely self-preservation, and what he thought would be best for Edith in the long run._

...

"Might I have a word, my dear? Whenever it is convenient."

It was after dinner, so Edith would be putting baby Marigold down soon anyway. She tenderly placed the sleeping babe in her crib, tucked her under a soft blanket, brushed a stray golden curl from her forehead, nodded to Nanny, and turned to Anthony, who had been standing respectfully to one side.

"She's just been fed, so she'll sleep now" she whispered. "Shall I join you in the library?"

She went to her bathroom to freshen up after Marigold's feed, and Anthony returned to the room in the house that seemed to host all their happiest, and unhappiest, moments.

Within a few minutes she joined him.

"What is it?" she asked brightly.

"I thought...that is to say...we should think about Christmas and New Year, Edith. I know you don't really want to go to Downton..."

"No, I really don't!" she exclaimed. "I really just want to stay here and have a quiet Christmas with Marigold...and you..."

 _I'm an afterthought, that's all I am. Merely a polite addition_.

"...but we really ought to put in an appearance, I suppose" she conceded.

"Very well; I am at your command. Also, as you know, I am expected to attend Midnight Mass tomorrow night at Locksley church. You don't have to come if you don't want to."

"I'd love to, Anthony."

Her nervous smile melted his heart, even as it broke.

"There was one other thing. I...I thought that...after New Year...I might go down to London...for a bit."

"Oh, all right. Pleasure or business?" she asked.

"Neither, really. It's..." He hesitated again. _How am I ever to say it? Why do I have to be such a damned coward?_

"Would you like me to come with you?"

He closed his eyes.

"No, no, that's the whole point. I'll be living there...alone...from then on."

The silence was crushing.

"What are you saying? I...I don't understand what you're saying."

He heart the terror in her voice. What can she be frightened of? He then thought she was probably frightened of being turned out.

"There's no reason why you can't remain here at Locksley, or, if you would prefer, we can find some nice place and I'll buy it for you. I will be taking only Stewart. The rest of the staff are at your disposal."

"But..."

He crashed on, thoughtlessly, in case he couldn't finish if he didn't.

"Nothing need be said...outside of this house, I mean. I shall return to visit when you think it appropriate...birthdays, Easter, that sort of thing. And if anyone asks you can say that I'm working for the Foreign Office again. There should be no gossip."

He immediately thought that there was probably an awful lot of gossip going on downstairs right at that moment.

"And...and...and I'll arrange for an enhanced allowance for you and Marigold."

 _It sounds like you're paying her off, you wretch._

She took a step towards him.

"What is it? What have I done?" Her voice wavered, despite her attempt to control it.

"What? Nothing! This is not your fault, Edith."

"There must be something. You're too good a man to go back on your word. You said I was in control of this marriage, that you would fight for me."

"I will _always_ fight for you, my dear, and yes, you are in control, but..."

"Then I will state, here and now, that I don't want you to leave. Locksley is your home. You belong here."

"Oh Edith, I...oh god!"

He was losing this battle with both his strength, and with her.

"If you want to separate, then at least I should be the one to leave. But I wish you would tell me what I've done wrong. Give me the chance to put it right."

She had kept herself composed, which was a damn sight more than he had. He admired her for it.

"Truly, this is not about anything you have done."

"Is it something I haven't done which I should have?"

"Your conduct has been faultless and so, so brave. No, this is about my failure, Edith. My failure to cope. That's all."

Her face crumpled with concern.

"Cope?...with what? Anthony, are you all right? Are you in trouble? You're not ill are you? Is it your arm again? Or...or the shell-shock?"

He stiffened.

"How did you know about that?"

"I've known about it since we met again after the war at Granny's. You were changed, in ways that only someone who had nursed wounded soldiers would recognise. I had hoped, well, that you might have trusted me, confided in me, and let me help if I could."

"It is not something with which one burdens a lady."

"I'm your wife."

"But you're not, are you?"

In the silence they both realised that that was it, there, the problem, stated baldly.

In a small voice she asked "What could I do to keep you here, Anthony?"

He merely shook his head slowly, and turned away from her as he confessed.

"That's just it. I am so afraid, Edith, that if I tell you what's wrong, you will try to put it right, even if it means lying. And if you did, if you pretended, I think it might kill me."

He turned back to her, despite his tears.

"I will be leaving after New Year."

He strode past her and wasn't surprised at how much he hated himself when he heard her weeping.

.

* * *

 **A/N: Trying to finish this story feels like trying to pull my own teeth out. I don't know why it's being so difficult, but I promise you that there will be an end, and it will be a happy one.**


	6. Chapter 6

**1921 – The Fourth Christmas (continued)**

" _That's just it. I am so afraid, Edith, that if I tell you what's wrong, you will try to put it right, even if it means lying. And if you did, if you pretended, I think it might kill me."_

 _He turned back to her, despite his tears._

" _I will be leaving after New Year."_

 _He strode past her and wasn't surprised at how much he hated himself when he heard her weeping._

* * *

.

He ran upstairs to his bedroom and sat on the bed, his head in his hand, cursing himself for how badly he'd managed that. It seemed that, where he and Edith were concerned, he always ruined everything. Why?! Why did he repeatedly sabotage his relations with the person he loved most in all the world? More to the point, why did he keep hurting her when it really was the last thing he ever, _ever_ wished to do?

 _She was so upset_...he thought, immediately accusing himself... _o_ _nly because you've let her down...and hurt her..._ _again,_ _you bastard!_ His resolve to leave Locksley was crumbling fast but if he stayed what would he do if...if…

If what, exactly? Of what was he so afraid? That one day he would totally forget himself and force himself on his own wife? He was a Strallan, and Strallans did not, _could_ not act anything other than gallantly towards the fairer sex. It was unthinkable that he would ever, _ever_ hurt Edith like that. He'd rather die.

If not that, then what else? That one day he would blurt out to her that he loved her, and then he would somehow have to bear her pity and discomfort, both of them living together knowing that he adored her and she did not return his feelings? She might think that he had somehow taken advantage of her compromised position and tricked her into marrying him, and that he could not bear. It was a real possibility. Even if he didn't actually say it, Edith was not stupid or unobservant; she would notice his feelings in time. But she was a kind soul; she wouldn't use the knowledge against him. It might not be unbearable. No more so than it was at present with her not knowing, anyway.

If not that, what else? That he would actually lose his mind? That his unrequited love for her would cause him so much suffering - suffering which he would keep buried as a gentleman should - that he actually went off his rocker?

That was the crux. If he was nothing else, he was a gentleman, and gentlemen did not lose control. Running mad would be the ultimate loss of self-discipline, the very worst disgrace. It would put Edith in an agonising position, deciding the fate of her husband and his estate, and leave both her and Marigold without a protector. And God alone knew how he would behave if he did lose his wits. Kiss her feet and howl at the moon, perhaps.

He laughed bitterly at the thought...through the tears.

* * *

.

The next day, being Christmas Eve, there were visits to pay and endure (mostly with the Crawleys), presents to deliver, and tenants to visit (another Locksley tradition). Throughout all of it Edith was calm and sweet, betraying no hint of what had happened, what was to come, or the wounds he had caused. She focussed solicitously on everyone else: the perfect lady of the manor. It made Anthony love her even more knowing she was braver than he would ever be. With Edith's every kind word to a tenant, or their wife or their child or elderly parent, his self-loathing grew.

* * *

.

At dinner, Edith asked a practical question while toying with her dessert.

"Who do you see managing Locksley...day to day, I mean? Would you want me to…?"

"Not unless you wanted that. I suppose I was expecting to appoint an agent" he answered, slightly taken aback.

"I would like to assist, especially as I'll be here; I think I ought to earn my keep, even if it is just a little. It's just...well, I don't think I have enough experience to go it alone immediately after New Year though." Her eyes briefly flicked up to his. "If you...stayed a little longer you could train me, show me how you like things done…"

 _A ruse to keep me here. Such a lovely thought. I could willingly fall into it...and stay..._

"I…" he began, and then stopped.

"It needn't be for very long, if that's what concerns you. I'm a quick learner." She looked up again, giving him the ghost of a smile. He saw the hope in her eyes, and she saw the tears in his.

"Please stay" she whispered. He watched as she placed a cautious, loving hand on his.

He opened his mouth to accept...then couldn't find the words. The silence hung like a moment suspended out of time between them.

"Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt but we should be preparing to leave." Stewart's face was implacable, even as he pointedly glanced at the clock showing past ten o'clock.

Reluctantly, he removed his hand.

"Yes, thank you Stewart."

He dropped his eyes, didn't answer his wife, and went up to dress for Midnight Mass.

* * *

.

As Stewart was adjusting the hang of the sling that his master couldn't adjust himself, he cleared his throat.

"Yes, Stewart?"

"I contacted Mrs Kemble today, sir. She will have the Townhouse opened and aired ready for the end of the first week of the New Year."

"Thank you, Stewart. Quick work, by you and Mrs Kemble. I'm grateful."

"With all due respect, sir, I...I wish to remain at Locksley when you relocate."

Anthony said nothing, but his look spoke volumes of shock.

"If that isn't acceptable to you, sir, I fear I will have to tender my resignation."

"Well...I...I...no...I don't want that...of course not…you may certainly remain here if that is your wish" Anthony stuttered in panic.

"Thank you, sir. I shall, of course, endeavour to find a suitable valet, for your approval, as my replacement in London."

He stood back and passed a professionally critical eye over Anthony's apparel.

"Will there be anything further, sir, before I fetch the car round?"

"No, no."

He finally found his voice just as Stewart reached the door.

"No one could ever replace you, John."

Awkwardly, Stewart nodded his truly grateful acknowledgement.

"Thank you, sir. Though if I may say so, according to her ladyship's maid, that's what she thinks of you too. Please reconsider, sir. This move is just making everyone more unhappy, including, I believe, yourself."

Stewart left the room, before he gave his employer a chance to tell him he'd been insubordinate.

* * *

.

Midnight Mass was jolly. This year, the Reverend Bentley wanted the service to be warmer and happier than usual as he gave thanks for having survived the pneumonia he'd contracted last year and lived to preach another day. He welcomed the Lord and Lady of the manor with high good humour, not noticing how much of an effort it was for the Strallans to respond. Anthony led his wife to the Strallan pew at the front of the congregation, and then spoke briefly with some tenants, exchanging seasonal greetings. When he turned to take his seat, he stopped and looked at Edith for a moment. She was quietly staring up at the Christmas tree, with sad, resigned eyes, though when he entered the pew she smiled bravely at him. The music was lovely, the church so atmospheric, and the readings were delivered (in Yorkshire accents of various breadths!). Then, Rev. Bentley rose to give the sermon he'd been working on for weeks.

"...We think about Mary and Jesus, but we hardly ever stop to consider Joseph, and what an enormous duty rested on his shoulders to raise the Son of God safely to adulthood. Joseph was an honest, upright man. A man who respected the laws and customs of his land, and yet, when circumstances demanded it, he was ready to make these subservient to the greater good of those he loved. The Gospel says he is a "just man", a man of justice and wisdom, and his actions prove it. Can you imagine how he felt when his much younger wife suddenly disappears very soon after their wedding without telling him why? _We_ know from Scripture that she went to see her cousin Elizabeth who was expecting the baby who would become John the Baptist after the Annunciation but _Joseph did not know where she had gone, or why, or when or even if she was returning?_ It must have caused him enormous emotional pain, made unbearably worse when she returned months later, obviously with child, and he knew that the baby wasn't, couldn't be, his?

"Some men would want revenge and would call it 'justice'. After all, according to the law at that time, he would be within his rights to deliver his wife to the authorities and have her stoned to death. But what does Joseph do? Even before he is visited by the angel and informed of the truth, we are told that he is minded to "put her away privily", that is, a quiet, private divorce, simply because that would put her beyond the scope of the law and no one, not spiteful family or neighbours, not even he would be able to accuse her further or insist on retribution. Despite his broken heart and wounded pride, he wants what is best for Mary and her child."

Anthony felt Edith's timid little hand seeking his once more. She was dutifully looking at the Vicar and not at him, and as their hands were down by the seat of the pew no one could see what she was doing. This time he gently squeezed her hand in response. She made a quiet noise and squeezed back, as they continued to listen to the sermon.

"The tidings brought to Joseph by the angel relieved him of his concerns and he was wholeheartedly reconciled with his wife in joy and love, even though he can't tell any of his friends or neighbours the truth behind what has happened. He has to endure public criticism, slander, and mockery. His care for his wife and the infant Jesus is one of complete self-sacrifice. Yet Joseph is hardly ever spoken of, even at this time of year. Truly he is a role model of Christian virtues: loving, discreet, steadfast, and humble. This Christmas, may we all value and treasure our families as the blessèd St. Joseph did his. Amen."

They stood for the final hymn and Anthony caught Edith's eye, seeing there so much pain, and longing, and...and... _love? You are beginning to lose it, old man; imagining what you want to see._

He glanced back at her, and forced out the smile he wished he could believe. And Edith smiled back, hopefully.

* * *

.

The brief ride back to Locksley was not easy for either of them.

"Do you think Mr Bentley's sermon was directed specifically at us?" she observed.

"I would not put it past him. He told me I should marry again within two weeks of Maud's death, even before you came carol-singing" they shared a tender, wistful look, "and he has never stopped telling me that it's my duty to provide Locksley with an heir. He thinks you're the bee's knees!"

"I'm going to be a bitter disappointment to him then, aren't I, when no heir is forthcoming?" she sighed.

"Oh...that wasn't a criticism of you, my dear. If it comes to that, I know Bentley'll think it's my failure. I'm...oh, hell, I can't say _anything_ right today!"

She gave him a weak but sympathetic smile.

"It wasn't a complaint about you either, Anthony." She turned and stared out of the window. "You know, we weren't always so bad at communicating with each other. There were times before the War when I was convinced we could tell what the other was thinking without need for words. It still felt like that after the War. Whatever happened…?"

"I betrayed your trust and crushed any feelings you may have had for me at the altar of Downton Church!" he bit out. "It's no mystery why you can't trust me, or care for me, now."

She put a hand on his good arm.

"No. No. That can't be it, because I trust you more than anyone else on Earth. And I do...care. I've always cared."

"Edith...I don't deserve your forgiveness."

She shrugged.

"Whether you do or whether you don't, I forgave you before you left the church. I know why you did it, and what it cost you. You told me yourself this time last year. No one has ever cared that deeply for me before or since. Of course I forgave you. Of course I trust you. Of course I care for you."

"Oh Edith. My sweet one…"

* * *

.

Stewart had come in to help him prepare for bed, and, unusually for him, had left without a word.

 _He blames me for upsetting Edith_ _, and he's right_ _. I wish he would just tell me what a_ _scoundrel_ _I am and have done with it. But of course, he would never do that. Threatening to resign was_ _as near to that as he would ever get._ _So I have to endure his silent censure, which is worse._

Sleep felt like a luxury he didn't deserve. Instead, he tried to compose a letter to Edith, explaining his reasons for leaving in a more rational way than he had been able to face-to-face. He realised that he was also trying to justify it to himself. Perhaps he was also trying to convince himself he didn't have to leave. He was half-way through his fourth unsuccessful draft when he heard the door shut quietly.

"I owe you an apology, Stewart..." he started without looking up. Then he turned and was struck dumb by the sight of his wife standing in the middle of his bedroom (which she had never hitherto done). Her presence had floored him, but what really took his breath away was that she was dressed only in a negligée and matching lace dressing gown. The gossamer-thin materials covered her, but still presented her to him in all her wondrous glory.

He realised the moment he set eyes on her, breathtaking and ravishing, that he was lost, but he was still shocked when his body reacted with a speed and urgency he didn't think still possible for him.

 _God! She's so beautiful! More beautiful than I ever dreamt in all my fantasies of her!_

Edith, only just holding onto the bravado that had enabled her to get this far, took advantage of his stunned silence.

"Anthony, before you leave me, there's something I would like to ask you, something I...I want from you. You said that I was still in control, so…"

"My sweet one…" he breathed.

She took a breath.

"I have wanted to know what it would be like to be your wife, _really_ you wife, since the summer before the War. I have wanted that so much. Before I watch you walk away from me for a third–and I fear final–time, I _need_ you to be my husband; I _want_ you to be my lover."

Her words sobered him more than a face full of iced water.

"Edith, please, this is what I was afraid of. Don't fret: I will always, _always_ take care of you and Marigold no matter what, as long as I am able. You don't need to do this as some sort of payment."

"Oh _Anthony_!" she growled her frustration. "Why can't you understand that I...I _want_ this!? I've always wanted to just be with you. Always."

"Forgive me, my dear, but I find that difficult to believe. I understand that you might have felt...a bit of puppy love before the War, and even afterwards until I treated you so abominably. But...what about Mr Gregson?"

"I'll admit that I thought him attractive, but only because he looked a bit like you. I would not have allowed myself to get into a situation where he could manipulate me so if I hadn't been so hurt and lonely...at the time, after...well, you know."

"But you must have loved him: you agreed to be his mistress!"

"I didn't love him, and I didn't...exactly...agree. It was one night and one night only, I swear to you, and he didn't ask permission. He just kept going, and I...I didn't know how to stop him."

"He _forced you_?!" Anthony hissed, beginning to realise just how wrong he had been.

"He wasn't violent, or anything like that. He just wouldn't stop. At first I was shocked, and then I was frightened because I didn't know what to do. After that night, he went away to Germany on an assignment. By the time he returned, I had discovered I was pregnant. When I told him, he dismissed me from the paper, saying that if I tried to tell anyone he would flatly deny any accusations, and I never heard from him again."

"Oh, Edith! This is all my fault. If I had stayed and married you, you would not have been at that man's mercy! I'm so, so sorry."

She stepped closer to him.

"I didn't tell you this to make you feel even more guilty than you already do, Anthony. I got myself into a compromising position, and Marigold in the consequence. You rescued her and me, remember? And I am grateful, but that isn't why I'm asking to stay with you tonight. Truly."

He gazed into her eyes, hoping.

"Will you let me?"

"What if...I compromise you again?"

"Anthony, you're my husband! You can't compromise me." She paused. "If it's a boy, at least it'll please Reverend Bentley…"

He took a moment to register her mischief, but then he couldn't help chuckling.

"I love making you laugh. I love sharing a house and a life with you, Anthony. I love you. I always have."

"And I have always loved you, my dearest darling. I love you to distraction, even if my actions have been a bit muddled and misguided over the years. I just couldn't believe that you might have feelings for me after your experience with...with Mr Gregson."

"You mean, a younger, unwounded man?"

"I suppose I do." He looked down.

"Oh Anthony! When am I going to be able to convince you that I love _you_? Not your arm, or your age. I love the way you look at me, and the way you always act in the most honourable manner, and a thousand other wonderful things about you."

He wasn't used to talking about his injury and his feelings aloud, but he wanted her to know this however difficult it was for him to confess it.

"And...and...I love you because you see past my arm in a way no one else does, because the wound didn't change how you regarded me. I was going away only because I had found that I couldn't bear it here if you didn't love me. That was the only reason. You do know that, don't you?"

She nodded, tearfully, and it convinced him. He knelt before her, and looked purposefully into her surprised eyes.

"My sweet one, will you marry me, properly, I mean, for love and love only?"

She held his gaze, understanding that this was important to him, that he had to satisfy propriety and his conscience.

"Yes, I will marry you, for love and love only."

He was much calmer as he got to his feet.

"My darling…" He took her hand and kissed it, and then looked up at her.

"May I kiss you?"

"I sincerely hope you will."

And so, in the winter of 1921, Anthony's wishes from across the years, not to mention Edith's, were finally granted.

* * *

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 _ **So I finally finished it...only four months late.**_

 _ **My humblest apologies to you all, and many, many thanks if you've stayed with me.**_

* * *

 _ **.**_

 _ **AN2: I am not happy with this ending. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed...but I think there might be an extended version coming.**_


	7. Chapter 7

**1921 – The Fourth Christmas (continued)**

" _My darling…" He took her hand and kissed it, and then looked up at her._

" _May I kiss you?"_

" _I sincerely hope you will."_

 _And so, in the winter of 1921, Anthony's wishes from across the years, not to mention Edith's, were finally granted._

He bent down and gently touched his lips to hers. Oh, it was exquisite, _she_ was exquisite. Immediately, though, a thought struck him: this was a woman whose one and only experience of physical love was when a _damned_ _cad_ (and nothing she could say to him would make him think any different of the man) had forced himself upon her. He drew back.

"My darling, you know, don't you, that if you ever told _me_ to stop I would, without hesitation."

She almost wept at the concerned look on his face, and his care of her.

"I would've thought you would, yes. Please don't think that I'm somehow extremely fragile, because I'm not. I _want_ you, Anthony. I still can't quite believe this is happening."

He cupped her cheek and smiled that besotted, crooked smile that he kept only for her, and which made her insides melt.

"This is a dream come true for me, my sweet one. I've imagined what might have been...if luck had been with us, over the years. But this is so much more wonderful!" He kissed her half on her cheek half on her neck, and whispered "Let me love you."

Huskily, she replied "Yes" and put her arms around his neck.

Their second kiss was not quite so gentle, although it began so. With the passing moments, and increasing sureness and emotion, Anthony was very soon trailing kisses down Edith's throat and eliciting the most exciting moans and gasps from her, giving him the confidence to place his good hand on her ribcage, just beneath her breast. It was a request for permission, answered when she moved his palm upwards to cup her. That was the moment that Anthony lost any semblance of conscious intention, and began acting purely on instinct and love.

A moment or two later, Edith began untying his dressing gown and sliding the heavy garment down his arms. She'd never seen him in anything less than attire appropriate to a gentleman in a drawing room. When she had entered his bedroom earlier, she had been struck by how he looked just his night things. He had been writing with his left hand, his right arm free of the sling and hanging at his side. Just seeing him like that had almost been enough to distract her completely.

Now that she had divested him of the quilted silk the same sapphire colour as his eyes, she was presented with another diverting vision: Anthony in thick, brushed cotton pyjamas in a masculine shade of mauve but with a swathe of skin visible at his throat and the top of his chest. She desperately wanted to stroke it. Overwhelmed, instead she leaned up and kissed it.

Anthony reacted as though he'd been touched by the wand of a fairy godmother, in a long exhalation of bliss. When he came back down to earth, his eyes were darker and filled with a dark mischief.

"You still have the advantage on me, my dear."

"I'm sorry?"

"You must be chilled to the bone in those clothes" he purred in a voice of pure honey. "I, however, am getting to be rather too warm in these. I think a little equalisation might be in order."

"And who do you think should have first claim for such adjustment?" she crooned in return, matching him for devilment, though she couldn't quite believe that Sir Anthony Strallan was _flirting_ with her!

"Ah my dear, I swore that you would be in control always, and it is a promise I intend to keep. It is your decision."

"Perhaps we could compromise? If I were to help you out of your shirt, you could then help me with my nightdress?"

The humour drained from his face.

"Are...are you sure, my dear? You don't have to bother with all this" he waved his left hand at his right shoulder "the first time...or ever, if you don't want to."

Even before he finished speaking, her face shone with such tenderness that it made him feel foolish for even mentioning it.

"I know you think I ought to be dismayed or even disgusted by your war wound, my love. I'm sorry, but I just don't think of it, or of you, in that way. I wish you hadn't gone to war, even though you think it would have been dishonourable not to do so. I wish you hadn't been wounded. What I give thanks for is that you came home at all. So you and I could find each other again. So you were able to be there to rescue me while I was freezing to death in my car in a ditch. So you could marry me and save my reputation and Marigold's and give us a wonderful home and a future."

He nodded tearfully.

"You're right, but..."

Instead of debating it further, she slid her hands under the cloth and began softly rubbing his shoulders in comforting circles.

"Is that nice?"

"Very."

"I'm going to undo your first button now." And she did. She slowly extended the massage to where she guessed the bullet wound would be and felt him tense as she reached it.

"Can you feel anything? I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"No, nothing like that. I can't feel anything below the scar; there are odd sensations immediately around it, but not unpleasant."

"Good, I don't want to hurt you. That's the last thing I would ever wish to do."

She let her hands trail down his arms and back again to his chest, caressing him with her fingers, leisurely undoing the buttons of his pyjamas. Then she left the garment on him and stood back.

"I think it might be a little too cold for you without your pyjama jacket. Why don't you leave it on but unbuttoned while you help free me from this."

 _God bless the woman!_ he thought gratefully _allowing me time to adjust._

With his good hand he pulled the single ribbon that tied her dressing gown closed and she shrugged it until it flowed down to pool at her feet and causing him to hitch his breath.

"You are so very, very lovely" he breathed into her neck.

She just cast her eyes downwards.

"You really are, my darling. Lovelier than any other woman I ever laid eyes on."

"Oh, I love you, Anthony." She flung her arms around his broad shoulders, kissing him tearfully, casting his pyjama shirt aside. "I love you so much."

"And I love you" he responded, lifting her with his good arm and placing her gently upon the open bed. He quickly followed and covered them both with the sheets and eiderdown.

"Anthony, wouldn't you like me to take this off?" she asked reaching for his trousers.

"Indisputably" he twinkled, as he attempted to do so. After a while, he looked up at her lying on his pillow, and said sheepishly "The last time I had any such...experiences as this, I had the use of both hands. I fear I may need some assistance."

"Why don't you just get out of bed to take them off?" she asked, reasonably.

"Because then you will have to see..."

"Darling, you arm really doesn't bother me."

"Actually, I meant..." He inclined his head, as though that made everything clear.

"Do you think it'll frighten me?" Her amusement was clear.

"I have absolutely no preconceptions, except to ensure that I treat you with respect and consideration" he huffed mildly.

"Forgive me, love. There are bound to be many things that we have to learn about each other." She added in her head _one being that what you regard as good manners I may think is a little old-fashioned_.

Anthony, who had deflated a little under Edith's glee, took her advice and got out of bed to divest himself of his pyjama bottoms. He then turned to retake his previous position to see Edith propped up on her elbow, _sans_ nightdress, and gorgeously naked. That brought him back to full attention. He'd never seen a woman completely bare before. Maud—sweet, chaste, Victorian Maud—hadn't thought it correct. Edith was _marvellous_.

Things went much more smoothly after that, and although still awkward, they found that they could please the other far more than either had ever thought possible, with hands, fingers, lips, and tongues...and love.

As Christmas Day dawned, Anthony woke to Edith in his arm, snuggling into his shoulder. Sir Anthony, Lord of Locksley, was no longer lonely, and never would be again.

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 _ **I am a lot happier with this ending. I hope you are too.**_

 _ **Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed, followed and favourited. I cherish every one, because it is so much more fun with an appreciative audience!**_

 _ **I am very behind with my reviewing of other people's stories. Please forgive me; I will ASAP.**_

 _ **Finally, do have a look at Lady Tarlea's forum ANDITH TEA PARTY. Just search for that title under Forum.**_


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